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CHAPTER 5th.
The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse |  |
In mimic Magnet's occult force we find
Mysterious emblem of the human Mind.
With wonderous deeds each sympathetic pole
Asserts its pow'r, like Man's impassion'd Soul.
Devoid of wish, or will, by heavenly Laws,
Like Hate, repels, or fond Affection, draws.
Impell'd by some resistless, latent, pact,
Like Loadstones, all pure Spirits promptly act.
With frowns avoid—with smiling looks invite—
By Love attracted, or repell'd by Spite.
Perpetual impulse courts the kind embrace,
Or turns, with strong dislike, averted face;
Which warn discerning Souls, possess'd of sense,
How far desires are felt, or deep offence.
Mysterious emblem of the human Mind.
With wonderous deeds each sympathetic pole
Asserts its pow'r, like Man's impassion'd Soul.
Devoid of wish, or will, by heavenly Laws,
Like Hate, repels, or fond Affection, draws.
Impell'd by some resistless, latent, pact,
Like Loadstones, all pure Spirits promptly act.
With frowns avoid—with smiling looks invite—
By Love attracted, or repell'd by Spite.
Perpetual impulse courts the kind embrace,
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Which warn discerning Souls, possess'd of sense,
How far desires are felt, or deep offence.
When thus the Heart is touch'd, by Spirit, pure,
It feels far less the force of fleshly lure.
Its energies, o'er Earth, no longer range,
To seek some fairer choice, or fonder change;
But soon perceives that pomp—sports—pleasures, all,
That so endear this dull, this barren, Ball!
Exciting every unregenerate heart,
With eagerness, to grasp a greater part,
Are like frail colours on the soapy sphere,
That fly the hand, or burst before it's near—
Or slippery glories of mercurial globes,
With brilliant faces, and rich, silvery, robes,
Which, when vain fingers press, as valued prey,
Each touch dissects them, or they slide away.
Frail worldly things thus tempt vain Souls aside,
By sly seductive Lust, or prompting Pride,
But Saints, with fluttering strength will strive to fly
From all vain Pomp of Life which lures the eye,
Still turning with intense, and deep, disgust,
From visual Vanity, and fleshly Lust—
While steadfast Faith's fix'd Eye, looks, bold, above,
Imploring higher Hope, and larger Love;
And, labouring to purge off all earthly leav'n,
Bends all its views, invariably, to Heav'n!
It feels far less the force of fleshly lure.
Its energies, o'er Earth, no longer range,
To seek some fairer choice, or fonder change;
But soon perceives that pomp—sports—pleasures, all,
That so endear this dull, this barren, Ball!
Exciting every unregenerate heart,
With eagerness, to grasp a greater part,
Are like frail colours on the soapy sphere,
That fly the hand, or burst before it's near—
Or slippery glories of mercurial globes,
With brilliant faces, and rich, silvery, robes,
Which, when vain fingers press, as valued prey,
Each touch dissects them, or they slide away.
Frail worldly things thus tempt vain Souls aside,
By sly seductive Lust, or prompting Pride,
But Saints, with fluttering strength will strive to fly
From all vain Pomp of Life which lures the eye,
Still turning with intense, and deep, disgust,
From visual Vanity, and fleshly Lust—
While steadfast Faith's fix'd Eye, looks, bold, above,
Imploring higher Hope, and larger Love;
And, labouring to purge off all earthly leav'n,
Bends all its views, invariably, to Heav'n!
Magnetic needles, like true Christians' hearts,
Well-forg'd, and touch'd, act, promptly, novel parts.
Not now mere matter, passive and inert,
But feel new force, made lively, and alert:
For tho' both lively, and alert, before,
'Twas all gross gravitation, low'r, and low'r;
But, touch'd, and taught, new bias now obey,
Nor once old hypocritic bent betray.
Ne'er feign affection, like Deceit's address,
But, mutual drawn, still mutual coalesce.
Approach'd by fellow-steel, spontaneous turn;
With fondness join, or, strong repulsion, spurn.
No other substance shows this Love like them;
Pure silver—polish'd gold—or pearl—or gem.
This, by elective pow'r, alone, impell'd,
Still firm, to place, and fix'd position, held;
Till some far-different, fresh-directed, force,
Connexion breaks, or biasses their course.
Such influence, maugre Nature's strong controul,
Incessantly affects the new-form'd Soul;
Like impulse pressing on the trembling breast,
By Truth attracted, Falshood's pow'rs repress'd—
While heav'n-born sentiments the bosom win,
Embracing sanctity, abhorring sin;
Unless a moment's Lust, or Passion, sway,
Or Pride turn tempted Will a different way—
But soon such Spirits to their centre turn,
Bemoan their faults, and with fresh ardour burn!
Well-forg'd, and touch'd, act, promptly, novel parts.
Not now mere matter, passive and inert,
But feel new force, made lively, and alert:
For tho' both lively, and alert, before,
'Twas all gross gravitation, low'r, and low'r;
But, touch'd, and taught, new bias now obey,
Nor once old hypocritic bent betray.
Ne'er feign affection, like Deceit's address,
But, mutual drawn, still mutual coalesce.
Approach'd by fellow-steel, spontaneous turn;
With fondness join, or, strong repulsion, spurn.
No other substance shows this Love like them;
Pure silver—polish'd gold—or pearl—or gem.
This, by elective pow'r, alone, impell'd,
Still firm, to place, and fix'd position, held;
Till some far-different, fresh-directed, force,
Connexion breaks, or biasses their course.
Such influence, maugre Nature's strong controul,
Incessantly affects the new-form'd Soul;
Like impulse pressing on the trembling breast,
By Truth attracted, Falshood's pow'rs repress'd—
While heav'n-born sentiments the bosom win,
Embracing sanctity, abhorring sin;
Unless a moment's Lust, or Passion, sway,
Or Pride turn tempted Will a different way—
But soon such Spirits to their centre turn,
Bemoan their faults, and with fresh ardour burn!
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CHAPTER 5th.
The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse | |